Closed Position
by Zanzou
Summary: Lyle is not like his brother. Not even if he'd like to be. Lyle/Regene, Lyle/Tieria, others hinted


**Title:**Closed Position  
**Pairings:** Lockon/Tieria, Lyle/Regene  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** None  
**Summary**: Lyle is not like his brother. Not even if he'd like to be.

Regene let his hand trail down the Dylandy's arm, angling his body more fully towards the brunet. Lyle was drunk; there was no mistaking the flushed cheeks, sour breath, and glazed eyes. The man had been clumsily flirting with Regene since his arrival, but it was a casual, careless flirtation. His eyes kept tracking back to the bar's holoscreen, where an official news broadcast was showing President Stegmeyer shake hands with each member of the AEU's parliament as the newscaster expounded on the virtues of a globalized government.

"They've really gone too far with this 'Federation' of theirs, don't you think?" Regene said softly, voice barely loud enough to make it to Lyle's ears.

Lyle nodded, mute, until the report changed to a human interest piece on the constant war in the Middle East. His attention no longer divided, Lyle spun the stool to face the man beside him. "You're right," he slurred, gesturing widely at the holoscreen. "They told everyone at work today our department was being dissolved." Lyle grimaced, his tongue tripping over the words slightly as he spoke, and made sure to enunciate fully as he spoke. "The HRL's branch is 'better organized' and they don't want to spend the money to train us under the new systems." He ran a hand through his short hair, now in desperate need of a cut, with the slightly greasy feeling reminding him he needed a shower.

Regene made soft noises of sympathy, his hands smoothing the creases in Lyle's suit with small, soothing pats. "That's awful. All those people without jobs... what are you all going to tell your families?" His words were carefully framed, and the Innovator made sure not to let his smirk out when Lyle tensed at his words.

Pulling away, his flush no longer just from too-much whiskey in too-little time, Lyle said harshly, sounding the closest he'd come to sober all night, "They're dead. They're dead, and if the AEU couldn't be bothered to look for their killers, there's no chance the new Federation will."

A beat of silence, then, quietly, Lyle said, "My brother helped me get this job. It was one of the last things we did together before he disappeared." He stared down at his hands for a moment, then gestured to the bartender for another two fingers of whiskey, the gold liquid glinting faintly in the white light of the holoscreen as he knocked the glass back.

Regene didn't allow his expression to change, but a faint hint of satisfaction crept into his voice. "That's so terrible-- Lyle, yes?" The other man nodded, eyes distant, until Regene curled his fingers lightly around his arm and said, "I'll just take you home, hmmm?"

Of course, Lyle said yes. And if Regene let things go just a little too far, after giving the man whispered, laughing instructions to a bar where Kataron recruited... Well. Ribbons didn't seem to mind when he had fun with the humans, as long as he kept it out of his report to Veda.

*

Lyle woke up the next morning alone. He stumbled into his bathroom, fingers clenched around the toilet bowl's rim, stomach spasming, and wondered what he was going to do with the rest of his life. When he sat up and his stomach didn't lurch, he hauled himself to his feet, rinsing out his mouth before blindly making his way back to his room for his cigarettes.

"Fuckin' women," he mumbled to himself as he flicked his lighter, growling angrily when it failed to spark. He slid his eyes around his floor, squinting in the dim light, until they came to rest on the suit jacket he'd worn out last night. Dragging it closer with his foot, he emptied out the pockets, searching for the matches he'd nicked from the bar last night.

A flame and-- aaah. Holy Mother Nicotine. He basked in the glow for a few moments, holding the smoke inside his lungs for long counts before exhaling. He stroked his finger idly up and down his lighter, a slow arousal mixing unpleasantly with the nausea still rotting his gut.

He'd really wanted to bang that woman from last night. She'd been hot-- hotter than Lyle usually found, drinking in the dives he liked to frequent. She'd also done the most amazing things with her tongue, on the walk over-- delicious, distracting things, that made him glad he wasn't trying to drive. He'd almost convinced her to suck him off in an alley on the way to his apartment, before he vomited on her shoes. Never even gotten her name—he counted himself lucky that she'd made sure he got home in one piece.

He stubbed out his first cigarette just before the filter, barely glancing down long enough to stop from burning a hole through one of the many scraps of paper littering his floor. He picked it up as he pushed himself to his feet, turning it over as he ran a hand through his hair. In the smallest, most precise handwriting he'd ever seen, were instructions to the bar she'd whispered to him the night before.

Maybe he hadn't quite shot his chance.

*

Lyle started to go to the bar the woman had mentioned. The 'why' of it was something he preferred not to think about. To see her again? To meet up the 'people who wanted change', whatever the fuck that meant? Maybe he was just lonely, and one bar was as good as another, or maybe he was just going because some part of him thought this is what Neil would have done, his incessant lectures on standing up for what was right, doing the world some good—and that was even before the bombing, which had made his words so, so much more personal.

Not that he still wanted to be like his brother or anything. Whatever.

It wasn't the worst bar he'd ever been to, though. Dim lights and dusty corners, seats filled with men whose eyes plainly showed their defeat… but what bar wasn't looking like that, lately? Even the streets seemed full of dull, washed-out people, scurrying between dull, washed-out buildings.

The fight had gone out of these people a long time ago, even the 'hope' of the new Federation only bringing a hollow glimmer of light to the eyes of the masses.

Maybe that was why he went to the bar every night: to find someone, anyone, still willing to fight to make things better, to believe things could be better.

It was his third week of nights full of steady drinking and no work. He hadn't even learned the barman's name, though he'd spilled his guts out in a handful of drunken confessions already.

The door slammed open, and Lyle raised his eyes at the noise. A homeless woman—the wind from outside brought her smell to him, along with everyone else near the door, if the angry mutterings were to be believed—covered in layers of muddy clothes. "I wan' a drink," she slurred, slamming herself down on one of the barstools, hands pushed down deep into her pockets to pull out a handful of crumpled Euros. "I got money, so you can' kick me out."

Lyle turned his face away as her gaze swept over the suddenly silent bar; he could see the gum and fever-heat of her eyes from where he sat. He stared down into his glass, already half-empty, as the barman frantically tried to calm the woman down, even as he tried to hustle her out. She wasn't going quietly—this obviously wasn't the first place she'd tried—and the barman looked half way to calling the cops.

The woman's voice raised into a screech when the barman finally built up enough muster to lay his hand on her arm, trying to force her to stand, and Lyle pushed his chair out from the table, ready to help—he wasn't quite sure who—before a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

"Easy there," a voice said, and the hand pushed him back down into his seat, "that man's got everything under control, and I need to talk to you."

They introduced themselves quietly, barely audible even to each other over the shrill sound of the woman's ever increasing protests. By the time the woman was gone, it was last call, and most of the other patrons had trickled out, off to find a less disturbing place to drown their sorrows. The man—he said his name was Klaus—bought him a drink, but Lyle left the whiskey untouched, as he listened to the man tell him about the new IRA. 'Kataron' wasn't any happier with the new Federation than it had been with the AEU, or even the old British rule, and they were just as ready to pick up the fight as always.

When Lyle left the pub, he'd all but forgotten the homeless woman and her search for a drink, the cogs of his mind busy lining up the pieces of his life, the distraction of his thoughts letting him ignore the faintly sour tang that he could smell on his walk home.

*

"This will be your room. The showers are at the end of the hall." The girl—Feldt—spoke without looking him in the eye, though her constant half-glances were beginning to grate on Lyle's nerves.

Yes, he looked like Neil. They were twins, what had the crew expected? He hadn't seen Neil in years, though: he didn't have any pictures of him that were any more up to date than the ones from that old family album they'd recovered and split between them. He didn't want to think too hard about the fact that he'd only let his hair grow out in the past few years, after a lifetime keeping it short, close cropped, never wanting to be one of those twins that played the switching game, always so determined to be different (though never, ever as good) than his brother.

Neil had never offered to cut his hair so they could match.

"You'll be sharing the hallway," Feldt said, pushing a pink strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "You'll meet him soon, his name is—" She cut herself off as a figure suddenly turned a corner towards them, and Lyle sucked in a breath. It was her; the woman from the bar. Things started to suddenly line up in his head, and Lyle soaked in every detail of the (very flat, but that was okay, he'd never liked them big, anyway) woman who'd changed his life. He didn't know what he'd say to her, after all this time.

"Tieria, there you are!" said Feldt, her voice suddenly warm, welcoming, breaking Lyle out of his thoughts. She darted a few nervous glances between Lyle and the other woman. "Lockon, this is Tieria Erde, Seravee's pilot. Tieria, this is—"

"Lyle Dylandy," she—he? Her voice hadn't been that deep before, had it?—said, staring at him with arms crossed, everything about her--_him_closed off, unwelcoming. Completely different from his foggy memories. He felt a strange coldness in the tips of his fingers as he realised this _wasn't_ the woman he'd met, who'd he'd been looking for for years.

Despite the differences, despite the shock of being wrong after thinking he'd found her after so long—Lyle couldn't help but feel interest stir within him. His mind struggled to find the differences, to catalogue them until he could think of this Tieria as someone different, someone_new_. Suddenly the crew's reaction seemed infinitely understandable.

"Ah—yes," Feldt confirmed, into the awkward silence Lyle was just barely beginning to notice. She'd started to blush, lightly, and Lyle half-wondered if it would get so bad she'd match her hair. "Setsuna brought him from Earth. He's going to pilot Cherudim Gundam."

Tieria just stared at Feldt, gaze steady, utterly silent. Feldt eyes darted between them, the sterile halls of the ship giving her nothing else to focus on. "Sumeragi-san thought maybe you could help him train?" she offered finally.

Silence stretched between the three of them for a few endless moments, before Tieria spoke, the words sharp and almost accusatory, "Fine. I will meet you at the simulator tomorrow at 0700 hours." Having said his piece, Tieria pushed himself forward, past Lyle and Feldt, rotating sharply to disappear through the door to his own room. Feldt tracked Tieria's movements with a discontented twist of her lips, and she stared at Tieria's closed door for longer than Lyle thought seemed polite.

Lyle might have made a joke about it, but his own thoughts were also stuck on the absent Meister, and Feldt's distraction was a welcome reprieve. Whoever Tieria was, he clearly had some connection to the woman from the bar, and for some reason (it had to be Neil, it was_always_ Neil), he didn't like Lyle.

Not the sort of thing that Klaus and the others would want to hear in his first report at all.

*

The Kataron base was like a breath of fresh air, after the antagonism of the Ptolemaios. Better yet, Klaus and the other high ranking members had been stationed there. The famous Shirin (the only woman on the council, whose quiet manners and dreadful intensity even Lyle had heard of) was there, helpful and friendly enough on the surface that Lyle suddenly understood Klaus' praise. It was like falling back into his old life.

After his report on Celestial Being (shockingly dry, given the subject matter), Klaus grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving.

"Lyle," he said, eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one was watching, "there's someone here; here for you. They've got purple hair." Out of habit, Klaus' hands formed the signs for the directions through the base, and a twist of homesickness swept through Lyle at the familiar gestures. _Back of the base. Two lefts and a right. The room with a guard._

Lyle's heart beat a fast staccato under his ribs as he walked through the base, following Klaus' instructions automatically. It seemed no time at all had passed before he was exchanging quiet words with the guard and passing through the doorway into a brightly lit hangar.

It was like stepping back in time. There was a window to the south, sunlight streaming through it, and even from the back, he recognized her, something—the way she held herself, maybe—striking a sudden chord of familiarity in him he hadn't realised he'd been waiting to feel again.

It seemed and eternity before she turned to face him. She really did look exactly like Tieria, though her hair was layered, and curled at the tips. Lyle thought with a faint curl of unease that it nearly exactly matched his own hair. "Lyle," she said, voice low, laughing, and—and she was just as flat as Tieria. Lyle was sure if he hadn't met the purple-haired Meister, these thoughts would never have occurred to him, and sent a mental curse Tieria's way.

"Yes," he said, feeling rather dim. "And you're-- that woman. You led me to Kataron."

"I remember," she—he—said, voice practically a purr. "You were sick on my shoes; that's not something I'd forget." He straightened, an almost arrogant tilt to his head as he inspected Lyle. "My name is Regene Regetta. I have a proposition for you," he said, and Lyle felt strangely grateful, to finally have a name to put to this figure in his life. He didn't think to be suspicious at all.

*

"You'll do it, Lyle," Klaus said, leaning against the wall in the meeting room. They were alone in the room but for Shirin, sitting silent behind folded hands.

Lyle nodded, but kept quiet, eyes glued to the wall in front of him.

"You say she's guaranteed us new suits and information, both. We need that information—those suits—if we're ever going to make real progress." Klaus paced back and forth at the back of the room, hands clenched tightly behind his back, eyes burning with excitement.

"Yes, I know," Lyle said, voice steady.

"You heard what those people said," said Shirin, laying palms down flat on the table. "They have no interest in working against the Federation; they're only interested in the A-Laws." She caught Lyle's hesitant gaze and held it. "They got _you_ to replace your brother: they'll find another pilot."

Lyle nodded again. He knew she was right. They were at war, and war was full of difficult choices. He couldn't help but remember that Shirin seemed to hold some personal grudge against Celestial Being, though—for some reason always held back from trusting them, despite bringing her country's princess.

And even though it made him feel like he was betraying himself, betraying Celestial Being, who his brother had fought and died for, didn't sit right with him at all.

*

Lyle found Tieria in one of the observation rooms, looking out to the dark waters around the Ptolemaios, his hand lying pressed flat against the glass. "You're thinking too hard," Lyle said, after watching in silence for a few moments.

Tieria didn't turn to look at him, continuing to stare out at the dark, and Lyle could see that Tieria's eyes didn't even track him in the glass as Lyle walked forward.

Not at all unusual. Over his weeks on the Ptolemaios, Tieria had been all but rude in his avoidance of Lyle's presence. He still hadn't addressed Lyle as his codename, _Lockon_, his brother's last gift. It would have been a relief, to have _someone_ on this ship who didn't find it necessary to compare or confuse him with Neil at every opportunity, but with his new assignment-- Well. It would have been easier on him if Tieria's guard was down around him.

Two eels swam by, chasing after each other before twining together for brief bursts of contact, and Lyle followed their path for long enough that when Tieria spoke, he quite nearly jumped. "Did you know—did you _know_--when your brother died? I've heard that twins sometimes share a bond that lets them—know about the other person. That they're always connected." He still wasn't speaking _to_ Lyle—he'd directed his question more at the glass than at anything else, his voice entirely passive, and if it weren't for the subject matter, Lyle would have thought he were speaking to himself.

Even if Lyle hadn't met Regene, he'd have known there was more behind Tieria's words than just idle curiosity. Tieria had had weeks alone with Lyle to ask—there was no reason for him to do so now. That was one of the few things he and Neil had had in common; their ability read people, the hidden paths their words took.

"Not really," Lyle said, walking forward until he was almost touching Tieria, almost-but-not-quite shoulder to shoulder. The eels had gone, and the dark, night water was really less interesting by far to watch than the tiny flickers of emotion over Tieria's face. "Neil and I were never especially close; even less so, after our parents died." He leaned his forearm against the glass, the cold chilling him through his uniform. "That day changed him."

"He wanted revenge," said Tieria softly, almost to himself, letting the tips of his finders trail down the glass until both hands hung loose at his side. "He wanted it more than anything else. He died for it." Tieria's carefully constructed blankness was anything but, from this close, and his voice was tight with long-held grief.

Lyle stayed silent for a beat, mind churning. "When I met Setsuna," he offered slowly, "I recognized him. I don't know why, or from where—but I did." He stayed silent after that, letting Tieria digest the information, before he continued, voice even softer, as though sharing a secret. "That was something we did have, even after our family was killed. Flashes of things, people, places, the other had seen—especially if they were important."

He shrugged the thought off, dropping his arm from the glass to rotate his shoulder, before turning and propping his side against the glass. "It hadn't happened for years—I never thought it would happen again, after so long. But I recognized Setsuna."

He didn't mention that Tieria had seemed familiar—he chocked that up to Regene. Nor did he mention that Setsuna had confessed to tailing him for days before he'd made contact. Lyle had probably just seen the boy somewhere in the mass of people around him day after day. That wasn't what Tieria needed to hear.

His words made Tieria flinch backwards, taking a half-step away from Lyle, his fists suddenly clenched by his side. Lyle moved with him, pressing forward, and with a savage twist of inspiration, grabbed Tieria's upper arm and spun them so they faced the sea, their reflections, Tieria's back pressed against his front.

"I don't like looking at people and seeing what he saw," Lyle said, savage, staring into Tieria's eyes, reflected back at him on the glass. "I make my own memories, and I don't want them to just be echoes of _Neil_."

He reached down, grabbing hold of Tieria's hands, and brought them up to press against the glass, Tieria's smaller hands invisible within his own, and said, "I'm glad that he's not out there somewhere to see this."

Tieria's face twisted with anger, and he pulled against Lyle's grip, obviously about to spin around, probably punch him like Feldt had, when—well, Lyle couldn't be sure, with just the reflection of the viewing glass, but he'd swear that Tieria's eyes suddenly glowed _yellow_.

The other Meister seemed suddenly pliant, and Lyle was left somewhat confused. But he pressed onwards, wanting to bring this encounter to an end, wanting to see how far Tieria would let it go—and just _wanting_, he noticed with some surprise, as his hips pressed more firmly against Tieria's backside. He moved his left hand, still gripping Tieria's own, down to the other Meister's pants, had just pressed down enough to feel that yes, _yes_ Tieria was definitely male, and definitely interested.

Cupping Tieria (or really, helping Tieria cup himself) seemed to breathe life back into the body pressed so deliciously against his front, and Lyle let loose a curse in his head when Tieria stiffened, and twisted within his grip to stare at Lyle, hard.

His eyes weren't yellow—just their usual, slightly disconcerting red—but whatever had struck him, made him give in to Lyle just then, it had passed. He pushed Lyle back, firmly. Lyle stumbled slightly, surprised mostly at the strength that one short motion portrayed.

"Do not touch me, Lyle Dylandy," Tieria said, voice gone colder than Lyle had ever heard it. "You are not your brother, and you have _no right_."

Lyle could only stare as Tieria stormed past, still half-hard inside his pants. "For fuck's sake, Neil," he said, to no one. "Did you get everyone on this ship this worked up about you, or just the cute ones?"

No one answered. No one ever did.

*

Lyle barely spoke to Tieria, in the following weeks. But he watched him and saw that something had changed.

Tieria was—distracted was the best word for it. The yellow eyes (which hadn't been his imagination) appeared more frequently, though never for long, but Tieria always seemed slightly dazed afterward, answering questions more easily, allowing more casual touches—though never from Lyle.

Lyle had pretty much given up on his _extra_ mission, had told Klaus as much. The older man kept quiet about that in his replies, which Lyle took to mean the usual 'Don't give up until the job is done' mentality Klaus had about everything.

When the Ptolemaios again landed at Rub' al Khali, he'd been looking forward to getting some real help on the matter, fully prepared to beg for advice from Shirin, he was so stuck.

Klaus and Shirin had both hushed him, and led Lyle into a conference room, where full council—all the higher ups—sat waiting. Lyle jerked to a halt. He knew something was wrong, something he didn't understand.

"Just watch," said Klaus, leaning close to whisper the words, and pushing Lyle into a chair before taking one himself. The holoscreen on the opposite wall suddenly burst into life, and Lyle jerked when he saw who was there.

Regene Regetta. And here, at the base, if he were one to guess from the layout of the hanger. Casually waiting, staring at the only door in the camera's sight. Lyle could see that her-- _his_, damnit, was he ever going to learn—eyes were glowing a now-familiar yellow, and felt a chill sweep through him.

Regene and Lyle didn't have long to wait. In just under a minute, the door opened, and Tieria stepped through, eyes emitting the same strange, golden light. The light faded abruptly from the eyes of both the figures on screen, and Tieria suddenly tensed, looking around himself as though unaware of how he'd gotten there.

"You see, Tieria," said Regene, softly, striding forward to cup Tieria's face in his hands. "I'm always with you. And should I want it, I could make sure you—or at least your mind—would always be with me."

Tieria said nothing, though he didn't pull away from his mirror's touch. He seemed resigned, almost broken, and Lyle suddenly felt a terrible inkling at what the other Meister had been seeing, _hearing_, all those times Lyle had seen his eyes glow.

Lyle suddenly noticed the rows upon rows of new, advanced-looking mobile suits that filled the hanger behind the purple haired duo, and couldn't manage to swallow past the lump in his dry, dry throat.

Lyle turned his face away from the screen. He didn't need to watch this.

Everyone in this room, and the hanger, knew it was over.

*

A/N: Written for the Mechaphiles' Holiday Exchange, Winner of Mod's Choice (Long Fic).


End file.
